Sam's Farewell to the Beer Barrel in the Cellar
by Nymredil72
Summary: Frodo stepped inside the dark door. 'Sam' he called. 'Sam! Time' "Coming, sir' came the answer from far within, followed soon by Sam himself, wiping his mouth. He had been saying farewell to the beer-barrel in the cellar. (pg 79, FotR) R&R!


Disclaimer: Despite what you may think, I do not own Frodo, Sam, Merry, Pippin, Rosie, or anyone or anything else having anything remotely to do with Lord of the Rings, and nothing you do or say is going to change that fact!  
  
Author's Note: This is the most mixed up fic I have ever written... half romance, half angst, and half humor (and yes, I am aware of the fact that I just use three halves. Just... bear with me... please.)

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**"Sam's Farewell to the Beer-Barrel in the Cellar"  
**  
"Pippin was sitting on his pack in the porch. Sam was not there. Frodo stepped inside the dark door. 'Sam!' he called. 'Sam! Time!'  
  
"'Coming, sir!' came the answer from far within, followed soon by Sam himself, wiping his mouth. He had been saying farewell to the beer-barrel in the cellar."  
  
The Fellowship of the Ring, page 79  
  
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Sam had been sitting glumly outside Bag End for some time, allowing his mind to wander amongst the sea of grass swaying in the sullen wind and drift with the leaves fallen from the trees, touched by the deathly hand of Autumn. He allowed his hands to once again trace the patterns in the wooden bench carved long ago by his brother to sit forevermore in the quiet company of the flowers. For the first time, the young hobbit was beginning to doubt whether he should go on with the Quest, as he liked to think of it, and leave the home he had loved so much.  
  
You will probably not be surprised when I tell you that Frodo was doing much of the same, wandering through the rooms of Bag End, all filled to the brim with shadow lingering bitterly with memories. He was telling himself with stubborn fervor that he was mourning the fact that his comfortable hole would soon be in the possession of those vile Sackville- Bagginses; that his despicable cousin Lotho would be occupying his rooms, perhaps even sleeping in his bed! But, no, in his heart of hearts he knew that his true sorrows were rooted in the deeper soil of his soul, and would soon grow, their tendrils grasping his limbs and twining about his body until he succumbed to them.  
  
And so he paced about the silent rooms, his steps echoing painfully as he stumbled across old memories, which were better left untouched at this particular point in time. But since he had the audacity to disturb them in their quiet slumber, they had no choice but to attack him, assailing his senses with promises of yesterday. Frodo was in no mood to fight against the tide of memories threatening to carry him away, so he surrendered bitterly and stepped out of his hobbit hole, closing the round, green door shut tight behind him.  
  
"Is it time for us to be off, sir?" inquired Sam, both eager and reluctant to leave his own specters behind him.  
  
Frodo breathed in the air of the Shire, heavily laden with the smells of ale, harvest, smoke, and peace, all mingling with the bitter tang of autumn. "No, Sam. Not yet, anyway. I would like to take one last walk before I take my leave. Do you care to join me?"  
  
Samwise shook his head morosely, his curls glimmering golden as the last tendrils of sunlight caressed them.  
  
Frodo shrugged half-heartedly, too dejected at the moment to be bothered with whatever sorrows were blooming in his servant's heart. "Very well, then," said he, and was off, taking quick strides and glaring at the ground, as if it was the cause of all his troubles. Not far had he gotten when he bumped into Rosie, Miss Rose Cotton, that is, who was a good- natured sort, when appeased, but was not one to get on the wrong side of. She was known throughout Hobbiton for her hot head and short temper.  
  
So, you would not be surprised to find our hobbit, Frodo, that is, erasing that cross scowl from his face and instead saying things like, "Quite sorry, miss. An unfortunate accident, I assure you."  
  
Now, Rosie usually liked Frodo, more than most, actually, but today she seemed to be under the impression that he had done something terrible, even worse than bumping into her... imagine! So, she fixed the hobbit with a stare that would have curdled milk. If Frodo had not been a braver hobbit, I assure you that he would have begun to cry. Nonetheless, he scurried off in the opposite direction as swiftly as his furry little feet would carry him, which was surprisingly fast, given his size.  
  
Now, little Pippin, (I believe you have met him before) was sitting on the porch, and found this whole scene quite amusing, but apparently Rose did not share in his appraisal of the situation. Thus, when he dared to let out the smallest suggestion of a chuckle, she fixed him under her fiery gaze, and I must say, he looked like a chicken who had just found out he was about to be roasted for Christmas dinner!  
  
Our Samwise had been watching these events play before his eyes with apprehension and a certain degree of dread, and, I must say, I can hardly blame him! For he knew, as well as you probably do, exactly why Rosie had stormed up the road to Bag End, and it had not been to bid him an impassioned and romantic farewell. Death was in her stare, and he could recognize that better than anyone.  
  
"Hullo, Rosie," he said in his sweetest, most innocent voice, his words fairly coated in sugar, and dripping honey for good measure.  
  
"Ah, who might this be? Could it be Samwise Gamgee? No, I don't think it could be, seeing as my Sam would have at least thought to say goodbye to me before he set off to Buckland!"  
  
"Are you sore at me?"  
  
Rosie just laughed, hard and long, but it was not a pleasant laugh by any standards, even those of, say, an orc. As I have said, but would like now to remind you, Rosie was usually a very nice lass, so Sam Gamgee knew when he heard that laugh that he was in very, very deep trouble, that no amount of sweet-talking would be able to hoist him out of. But Sam too was a brave hobbit, so he swallowed his fears and faced the monster that he had created out of his own stupidity.  
  
Miss Rosie Cotton grabbed him by the ear, hauling him into Bag End, where Pippin wouldn't be snickering at the gardener's terrible misfortune. Sam winced, but bore his pain with resilience, knowing that he deserved everything she hurled at him.  
  
She did not stop at the kitchen, and when Sam through her an inquiring glance, she explained patiently, "We're going down to the cellar... that way, when I skin you alive, no one will be able to hear you scream!"  
  
"Oh," said Sam, squirming uncomfortably. Of course, Rosie was exaggerating, but if she didn't manage to pull his ear off on the trip down, her howling would certainly do the trick. The poor hobbit gulped, preparing himself for the worst, but also searching desperately for a way to stop her from murdering him.  
  
He remembered, a flush rising in his cheeks, the time he had asked Mr. Frodo for advice on Rosie, and lasses in general. Frodo had admitted willingly that he was not the expert in this field, and pointed him in the direction of his cousin, Merry.  
  
"Don't take her seriously if she ever gets mad at you," the experienced hobbit had advised him. "If she is angry, then it clearly stands to reason that she is looking for attention," said he, lounging on the grass and smoking his pipe in between sentences.  
  
Sam had leaned forward, intent on the wise hobbit's words. "So, give her what she wants. Tell her how much you love her... mmm... how beautiful she is... and, oh, yes, do not forget to kiss her."  
  
Sam had blinked as Merry looked at him seriously. "And make sure it's a real kiss, Sam, not one of those ridiculous pecks on the cheek I always see you give her. Trust me, she'll grow weary of you very swiftly if you keep that up, lad."  
  
Sam had scrunched his nose and wriggled his toes at the very thought, but it seemed that now, in his present state, he had nothing else left to do.  
  
"Mu-m-m-my, Rosie, you d-do look b-b-beaut-t-iful this evening," he stuttered, shaking like a leaf out in the rain. She fixed him with a cold stare, and the lad was struck by how her eyes flashed when she was angry. So he said, trying to speak in the same easy, slippery manner as Merry, "Your eyes, m-my dear, are th-the purest em-m-erald, sp-p-p-arkling like the s-sun on th-the grass."  
  
"_Really_, Sam," she said dangerously, "I really did think you had more sense than that. You sound like you've been taking lessons from that Mr. Meriadoc Brandybuck!"  
  
Sam could do nothing but goggle at her, as she stood, hands on her hips, a fortress that would not yield to any foe, and certainly not Sam Gamgee, anyhow. "Why didn't you come to give me a proper good-bye, or leastways _any_ sort of good-bye?"  
  
Both Sam's throat and eyes were burning with emotion, and not even from fear. He was now truly aggrieved and reminded why exactly he had been sitting glumly in the garden all day. "Because," he spoke in spite of his choked throat, "'Twas too hard. I couldn't think of what to say, or how to say it, or..." he paused to let out a shuddering breath, "_anything_."  
  
You might now be feeling terribly sorry for poor Sam, and even a little remorseful for having laughed at him, but Rosie was untouched by his tears, which had failed to melt her heart. "And did'ja think that I was going to fall for that, you numbskull? Your just going to Buckland for a spell is all. Why would it be so hard to bid me farewell for such a short time, mmm?"  
  
Sam did not feel very much bound by his promise of secrecy anymore, seeing as (although Frodo did not yet know it) he had already broken it. Besides, he truly loved Rosie, although he was loath to admit it, and did not want them parting ways, perhaps forever, with the lass despising him so. So, he spoke in apologetic, sorrowful tones, "I'm not going to Buckland."  
  
Somehow, Rosie understood, and needed no other explanations. Her face fell, as did her tears, softly and slowly. She bit her lip and shook her head, trying to grab a hold of herself before she crumbled in her grief. "I'm sorry," she murmured, unable to find any other words.  
  
"No, Rose-lass, _I _am... I'm so sorry I have to leave you like this... but I'll come back, I swear it."  
  
She nodded, repeating, "You'll come back."  
  
Sam didn't know what came over him then, but whoever pulled Rose tightly to his chest and covered her lips with his, it certainly was not the foolish lad who had wriggled his toes at the very thought of a kiss. And it was a real kiss, as Merry would have called it, long and slow and full of all the words that he could never seem to pull from the depths of his heart. How long he stayed there, I'm sure he could never tell you, but it always ranked in his mind as one of the chief events of his lifetime. But like all else, it had to come to an end sooner or later.  
  
Outside, Frodo had crept back to his home, sighing with relief when he found the coast to be clear. Pippin was sitting on his pack in the porch. Sam was not there. Frodo stepped inside the dark door. 'Sam!' he called. 'Sam! Time!'  
  
"Coming, sir!' came the answer from far within, followed soon by Sam himself, wiping his mouth. He had been saying farewell to the beer-barrel in the cellar... or, at least, that was his story.  
  
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Was that the most screwed up thing I have ever written? Am I even sane? Hmmm... I really do wonder sometimes. Reviews are desired more that anything else in the world... you will be my god if you review this. And, you know, if you liked it, you are perfectly welcome to go and read all of my other works. ::hint, hint::


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